It started with a drizzle.
Gentle.
Barely there.
But within minutes, the sky cracked open above them.
Rain poured down—thick, heavy sheets that soaked them in seconds. They were still a good five-minute walk from the car, but there was no time.
Ansh grabbed Riya's wrist—instinctively—and pulled her toward a small wooden structure near the roadside. A rickety fruit vendor's shed, long abandoned but dry enough to keep the worst of the rain away.
They ducked inside, panting. Water ran down their faces, their arms, their backs. Clothes clung to skin. Hair dripped. The storm raged just outside the wooden slats.
Riya pushed her wet hair back, chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.
Ansh didn't speak.
He couldn't.
She looked like something out of a dream. Her white blouse was soaked through, nearly translucent now, clinging to the curves of her body. Her skin glistened with water, her lips slightly parted as she inhaled.
His eyes dropped—then rose again quickly, guilt stabbing his chest.
She noticed.
And she didn't move away.
"I hate rain," she said softly, voice almost lost under the sound of the downpour. "It makes everything... too quiet."
He frowned. "Quiet?"
She nodded, leaning back against the wooden wall. "It drowns the world. Makes it feel like nothing else exists."
Her voice was calm. But her hands trembled faintly as she rubbed them together for warmth.
Without thinking, Ansh reached out, took her hands in his.
She tensed.
Their fingers interlocked.
And then... she didn't pull away.
He could feel the cold in her skin. The rapid thrum of her pulse. Her breath slowing—just barely.
"This isn't right," she whispered.
"I know," he replied, barely audible.
But he didn't let go.
Neither did she.
The silence returned, but it wasn't empty.
It was full—bloated with want, fear, guilt, longing.
Her eyes flicked to his. Their faces were inches apart now. He could see the rain in her lashes, the glint in her irises. She was looking at him like she was trying not to.
"I didn't mean to…" she began, then stopped herself.
"What?" he asked, stepping closer. His breath was shallow now. "Say it."
She looked at him, really looked at him, and something crumbled behind her eyes.
"I didn't mean to feel this way."
He swallowed hard. "Me neither."
Lightning flashed outside. Thunder rolled above. And in the brief silence that followed, they leaned forward at the same time.
A breath.
A heartbeat.
Her lips hovered over his—close enough to feel warmth, but not the touch. She paused there, her mouth trembling. His hands had found her waist, gently, respectfully—but full of silent desperation.
Just one second more…
"Riya—!"
Yash's voice, distant but fast approaching.
She jerked back like she'd been burned. Their bodies separated, the moment shattering like glass underfoot.
Footsteps splashed through the rain. Ansh stepped back, breath ragged, trying to erase everything from his expression.
She turned toward the shed entrance, brushing water from her face, composing herself in seconds.
But her eyes—those wide, glistening eyes—still looked at Ansh with fire and regret.
"Please," she said under her breath. "Forget this."
But neither of them would.
And deep down, they both knew it.